She smiled and patted his arm while leaning close. “I feel as you do. I just hide it better.”
A noise came from his throat, something between a chuckle and grunt of agreement. “It cannot last much longer.”
“I pray it does not.”
Rather than leading them toward the basement as usual, the two women continued down a long, curved corridor and stopped beside an open doorway.
“Please, go inside,” Yinette said, gesturing toward the door. “Mother is waiting.”
Curious, Brogan led the others inside.
The spacious room had a small dais at one end, the platform occupied by two chairs. Upon the taller of the two, which was padded in white fur with a high back, was Xionne, her hands clasped together in her lap. Wearing her permanent frown, Zhialta sat on the chair beside her, the woman’s wrinkled hands gripping the wooden arms, her gaze a challenge to anyone else in the room.
Sisters Harrietta and Ivarian bracketed the dais, both standing and watching Brogan and the others enter the room. Beside Ivarian stood Salvon. Brogan wondered when the old man had been summoned and why before the rest of them. Ever since arriving at Kelmar, he had been acting odd, often missing when the others were requested, sometimes meeting with the seers alone.
“Sit,” Zhialta commanded, interrupting Brogan’s thoughts.
He looked at the row of eight wooden chairs facing the dais, five strides from where Xionne and her retinue waited. Choosing the chair at the far end, Brogan sat, Blythe sitting next to him, the others each settling with Algoron in the final chair.
“As you may be aware,” Zhialta began, “two days past, we discovered two auguries without obvious falsehoods.” She glanced toward Ivarian, who stood to her left. “Apparently, the examination of these two occurred at the same time, a synchronism not to be ignored.
“Since that point, a team of sisters has been pouring through the remainder of those two tomes, attempting to glean guidance that might be of use to determine what lies ahead for our future.” Her face darkened as she visibly hesitated, casting a questioning glance toward Xionne.
The blindfolded seer said, “Both prophecies contain numerous passages regarding the Dark Lord. Should things proceed as described, neither ends well. We have determined a chance in each, seemingly slight and frustratingly vague. However, between the two, we have also detected a distinct divergence.” Extending her hand to one side, she nodded. “Ivarian.”
The woman thrust her chin out, looking down her nose as she spoke. “My sisters and I have determined that hope is tied to objects of power. You already possess numerous such items – the thief’s amulet, the warrior’s sword, the princess’s bracelet. In the prophecies, we have discovered clues leading to other such items.”
Jace asked, “What are these objects, and how are they supposed to help us?”
“We aren’t exactly sure.” Harrietta kneaded her hands together while glancing toward Zhialta. “According to the passage, one object is referred to as the Band of Amalgamation. What it does, we do not know. What we can tell is that the confrontation with the Dark Lord will fail should you not possess the item.”
“As for the other,” Ivarian said. “Piecing together a number of passages, we believe it is called the Arc of Radiance. It appears to play an important part leading up to a confrontation with the Dark Lord.”
“Wait a minute.” Brogan stood. “You expect us to confront the Dark Lord?” His tone was incredulous.
“It is your destiny,” Xionne replied.
Brogan’s jaw dropped. He had hoped he had misread their intentions. “Why us? We are just a bunch of misfits, thrown together by happenstance. How could we hope to defeat a god?”
“Not just any god,” Salvon said as he left Ivarian’s side and approached Brogan. “Urvadan is one of the two old gods. He and Vandasal existed long before the gods who are worshipped today. We can only hope his power is not what it once was.”
Jace snorted. “That doesn’t make it any better, you know. Gods are immortal. They cannot be killed.”
“Prophecy suggests otherwise,” Xionne replied. “Both of these prophecies include passages explaining how Urvadan might be defeated. In both, there is a final object of power, something called the Crimson Edge. The cryptic text surrounding this…object lends little clarity. While this item is critical in defeating the Dark Lord, all the other items detailed are necessary to reach that point.”
“Again,” Brogan said, “why us?”
Xionne rose from her seat and stepped off the dais, looking up at him through her blindfold. She is so small. I could crush her skull if I choose. As the thought struck, he wondered where it had come from.
Why would I think such things?
“When we first met,” Xionne walked past him, speaking to those who were seated, “I mentioned each of you by a title. These descriptions are not random, nor are they something I had gleaned from a vision myself. Those titles exist in a great number of prophecies.”
Rhoa said, “Define a great number.”
“Dozens. Perhaps over a hundred. These two prophecies, the only two we have yet to eliminate, use those terms when describing your party. Such descriptions, recorded in prophecies centuries ago, cannot be random. The fate of the world hangs in the balance. A shift in either direction could send us toward oblivion. You people are the fulcrum, your actions affecting all else. Make the proper choice, and things shift in our favor. Make the wrong choice, and the Dark Lord gains the upper hand. I cannot tell you what to do and how to do it, even if I knew the answers. Free choice is the core of prophecy, and to negate it would only make things worse.”
Crossing his arms, Jace said, “So I can just go back to Marquithe and forget about this whole thing?”
To Brogan’s surprise, Xionne nodded. “Yes, you may. In fact, that action might align exactly with what the prophecy has outlined.”
The thief grimaced, his eyes narrowing.
“Clearly,” Blythe said, “you have called us here for a specific reason.”
Xionne smiled. “You see to the heart of the issue.”
Turning, the small seer climbed back onto the dais while Brogan returned to his seat. Standing before her chair, Xionne removed her blindfold, the first time Brogan had seen her do so outside of the Oracle. Again, her eyes were solid black save for the stars within, swirling and drifting past.
In a voice sounding nothing like her own, Xionne said, “Time grows short. The end draws near. Tomorrow, you must depart on a quest. You will seek the objects of power and fulfill your destiny.”
She stepped off the dais and left the room, Zhialta trailing behind. Brogan turned toward his friends, their faces reflecting the same mixture of shock and confusion he felt inside. The two remaining sisters appeared shaken, the room locked in silence until Ivarian broke the seal.
“Jionna. Yinette,” she called out. The two women appeared in the doorway. “Escort them back to their rooms.”
While shuffling out the door, a jumbled mess of concerns clogged Brogan’s thoughts. It all seemed too much – wizard lords dying, monsters on the loose, the seers unable to gaze into the future, cryptic prophecies about the end of times, objects of power as their only hope, the Dark Lord behind it all. With his head lost in a haze, he and his companions followed Sisters Yinette and Jionna back to their quarters.
Upon reaching the corridor where their rooms were located, a series of thumps came from outside.
Sister Jionna pulled the key from the door to Jace’s room, opening it as she frowned. “What was that?”
Hearing shouts and screams, Jace rushed past her and to his window. Brogan followed, the others surrounding the thief to peer outside.
The city, normally calm and orderly, had turned to chaos. Here and there, stone buildings burned, black smoke rising. Citizens ran down the streets, emitting screams and shouts, fleeing from a mass of monsters.
The invaders were small, none more than five feet tall. Their bodies were naked, save
for a loincloth, their gray skin leathery, eyes overly large and red. Each monster had a big nose and long chin jutting out from a narrow face. The sight of the short, gangly forms was familiar to Brogan. Something he hadn’t seen for fifteen years.
Jionna gasped. “Oh, dear Vandasal, no!”
“Goblins,” Brogan muttered. “What are they doing here?”
From the barracks surrounding the temple, Guardians emerged, armed with swords, spears, axes, and other weapons. The soldiers and citizens ran past each other, the men, women, and children racing toward the temple, the warriors bracing for a clash with the goblins.
“There must be thousands of those things,” Jace said. “And what is that?”
Brogan’s gaze followed to where Jace pointed, to the distant, rocky overhang along the cavern wall, elevated above the city. There, a fire burned, amber flames five feet tall. Surrounding the flames was a handful of humanoid shapes, waving their arms until a ball of flame floated up from the fire, spinning in the air. The fireball sailed out, toward the city, splitting apart into six, smaller fireballs as it arced through the air and rained upon the buildings. Amber flashes lit the cavern, followed by the thumps of explosions.
“Those things are goblins,” Brogan replied, pointing to the ground, then shifted his body to point at the overhang. “The ones up on the cliff are goblin shaman – magic users.”
He drew his sword, the twilight of the city brightening to mid-day, the goblin shaman becoming beacons of light. Twisting the falchion in his grip, Brogan grinned at the weight of it. Those beacons would become targets. He merely needed to reach them. “Among these monsters, only the shaman can think, reason, plan. They are the leaders. Kill the shaman, and the rest will crumble.”
34
A Selfless Act
Dwarven Guardians clashed with the monsters on the streets below. The city defenders were fierce, carving through the attacking goblins like farmers reaping wheat, but they were greatly outnumbered. Despite their superior strength, skill, and weapons, some of the soldiers fell to the onslaught.
With him and his companions surrounding the window, Jace watched, coming to grips with the existence of goblins. Brogan’s words replayed in his head.
Kill the shaman, and the rest will crumble.
Turning from the window, he rushed to his bed, lifted the mattress, and grabbed the Eye of Obsurance. He slid it over his head and followed Brogan out the door.
“Brogan and I are going after the shaman,” he announced to everyone in the corridor. “We kill them, the assault will fall apart. Who is with me?”
Women shouted from somewhere in the temple, joined by shrieks of fear and the rapid patter of people running.
Narine rushed out and grabbed Jace by the arm. “Why does it have to be you?”
“The amulet will protect me.” He gazed into her eyes. “I am trying to help. A selfless act. I thought you would be proud.”
“Yes. Well, I am, but…” Her expression shifted. He recognized the determination in her eyes. “I am going with you.”
Adyn stepped through the door and drew her blades. “You two don’t make anything easy.”
The others filtered out the door, Blythe grabbing a key from Jionna and rushing to her own room. While Yinette followed them into the corridor, Jionna remained in Jace’s room, kneading her hands, appearing unsure of how to react.
“We all go,” Rhoa said, her jaw set firmly, but her eyes appeared haunted.
Rawk nodded. “Yes. Goblins… They are the spawn of the Dark Lord – twisted and evil.” He shook his head. “Our lore speaks of them. They cannot be reasoned with. Death is the only option.” Glancing toward his uncle, who gave a firm nod, he said, “Algoron and I will help.”
Jace turned to Yinette. “Is there another way across the river? The bridge we took to get here will be difficult to reach and likely guarded by monsters.”
The woman blinked. She appeared shaken, flustered. “What? Oh… Yes. Along the outer wall, beyond the garden, there is a ledge over the opening where the river enters the cavern. It leads to a tunnel that loops around and connects with the tunnel you took to reach Kelmar.”
“Is there a rear exit from the temple?”
“Yes. Through the Oracle, opposite from the entrance, there is a door. It leads to a secret passage.”
“Perfect,” Jace said. “Let’s go.”
He hurried down the corridor as Blythe exited her room with her bow in one hand, quiver in the other. They ran down the stairs, along the corridor, and into the receiving hall. There, they came across Hadnoddon and a dozen other dwarfs, all dressed in armor with weapons ready.
When the dwarfs turned toward Jace, he said to them, “We are going after the goblin shaman.”
“Go,” Hadnoddon said. “We must remain to protect the sisters should any of the darkspawn breach the temple.”
Rushing down the corridor, Jace led them into the next hallway, turned the corner, and burst into the Oracle. It was odd to see the bowl-shaped space empty, but he had no time to give it thought as he ran down the slope and across the floor. Climbing up the other side, he spotted a narrow gap in the wall, no more than two feet wide. He slowed as he slid into the dark space. It was four strides before he reached the door. Opening it, he stared into darkness.
Jace turned toward Narine, who was right behind him. “Can we get some light?”
A moment later, white light bloomed, revealing stairs descending into darkness. Gripping Narine’s free hand, he headed down the tight stairwell. At the bottom was a rock-encased tunnel, wide enough for two people to walk astride. They rushed down the tunnel, Jace counting his strides, reaching seventy-seven by the time they reached an ascending stairwell.
He climbed the stairs, twenty-two in total, which led to a short tunnel. At the end was an opening covered by thick leaves, bits of dim light filtering through here and there. A web stretched down from the tunnel ceiling above the exit, the silky strands occupied by the largest spider Jace had ever seen, easily bigger than his fist.
“Watch out above,” he said, nodding to it.
Narine looked up and gasped. “That is disgusting.”
He glanced back at her, grinning. “Don’t let it fall into your hair.”
She jerked her hand from his and smacked his shoulder. “Why would you say something like that?”
Chuckling, he pushed his way through the leaf-covered opening and emerged into an area filled with rows of dark-leafed trees bearing red-tinted fruit, rounded at the ends, narrow in the middle. He recognized the fruit as pessiburr, among the better foods he had tried since their arrival in Kelmar.
As the others emerged, Narine doused her light. Jace forged ahead, leading them through the trees and into a field of narrow-stalked shoots with pods at the top. The black shoots were as tall as Jace. He rushed forward, pushing them aside. The stalks had a smooth, elastic feel and sprang back when released. Complaints came from behind as they struck anyone trailing. He ignored them and forged ahead until he approached the cavern wall.
Turning toward the river, he stepped into an area lined with clumps of low, bushy plants bearing bulbous, pale vegetables. The rush of the river grew louder and louder as he drew closer, his eyes searching the cavern wall for any signs of a way up. In a narrow, dark recess, he spotted a ladder.
Driven by urgency, he gripped the rungs and began to climb, the wood groaning and creaking from his weight. Up he rose until he cleared the rocky wall and climbed onto a narrow ledge. His companions remained clustered below, all looking up at him.
“Come up one at a time. The ladder seems weak and might otherwise fail.”
Narine came next, rising at a steady but unhurried rate. Jace looked out across the cavern as another volley of fireballs arced toward the city.
When Narine reached the top and Jace helped her onto the ledge, Brogan gripped the rungs to begin his climb. Each motion by the big man seemed to stress the ladder, producing creaks and groans. When he grabbed the fifth ru
ng, the ladder broke. In desperation, Brogan dropped the broken rung and scrambled for a handhold. The vertical rail cracked and tipped outward, Brogan falling toward the ground eight feet below. He landed on his feet and tumbled backward, sending Rawk, Algoron, and Adyn sprawling, while Rhoa and Blythe each leapt in opposite directions to avoid the same fate.
“Dammit,” Jace swore. Standing upright, his gaze landed on the fire across the cavern. “Now what do we do?”
“You and I must go on alone,” Narine said.
He looked at her and grinned. “As long as we are together.”
Leaning close, she kissed him and whispered, “You say the sweetest things.”
He gripped her hand and led her along the ledge, praying the gods, and luck, were on their side.
Brogan grunted and rose to his feet. He helped Adyn up, the woman glowering at him. “Sorry,” he apologized, turning to the ladder.
One rail was broken in half, the other leaning against the rocks. Rungs, some split, others intact, hung from both rails. The ladder was a mess, certainly no longer usable.
With his hand against his forehead, Brogan groaned. “We’ll never get up there now.”
“Yes, we will.” Rawk pushed past Brogan and stared at the cliffside as if it were an opponent in a dual. “Back away. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
Everyone did as requested. Brogan glanced at the others to gauge their reaction. He had no idea what the dwarf had in mind.
Rawk hunched his shoulders, hands at his waist, fingers flexing. He thrust his hand forward, blasting into the wall of stone. Brogan’s jaw dropped when Rawk pulled it back to reveal an opening the size of his thick fist. Rawk repeated the action with his other hand, a foot higher than the first, creating a recess the height of his own shoulders. He then put a foot in the lower hole, gripped the upper one, and repeated the process, his fists thrusting into the cavern wall again and again as he worked his way upward.
Brogan turned toward Algoron, who smiled as he watched his nephew climb up the wall. “Stone-shapers… I heard you say it before, but I never understood it until now.”
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